When I’m bad, I know there is a very good chance I will feel Master C’s belt. Sometimes, if I’m being honest, I will deliberately misbehave, just so I can feel its kiss on my skin, and the deliciously uncomfortable glow that is its aftermath.
Master C never resorts to the belt without good reason, it is the ultimate punishment. As I’ve mentioned previously, I both fear and love its application.
When His belt lands against my skin, it is a reminder of how naughty I have been. It is a statement of His displeasure and a notice that I must earn forgiveness. Sometimes, earning that forgiveness is even more fun the misbehaviour that earned me the thrashing in the first place.
As with so many things, it is a reminder of my submission to Him; its marks, the badge of His ownership; its pain, a lesson to be learned, an example of His care and guidance.
Long after the belt has done its work, and I have performed whatever acts of contrition were required to atone for my transgression, the warm rosy glow remains. As the marks turn to a deep, angry purple before slowly fading, they become a reminder of both my misdeeds and Master C‘s loving guidance. It is both a symbol of my shame and of my redemption.
I love what Master C‘s belt and its resultant markings mean.
You could say I am a glutton for punishment.